


At First Sight (first rambling)

by Aednat_the_Fourteenth



Series: Ramblings [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis has some big flaws, Character Study, Family, Fête des Mousquetaires Challenge, Gen, Love, Parenthood, angsty angst, but he's working on them, self-loathing Aramis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aednat_the_Fourteenth/pseuds/Aednat_the_Fourteenth
Summary: He’s a soldier now. A soldier who’s never ceased to be open, romantic and caring, but a soldier nonetheless. A soldier who refuses to let something as dangerous as love at first sight interfere with his ability to fight for what he believes in, keep his brothers safe, and do his duty!--Tag for series 2, episode 3, "The Good Traitor".--(Re)written for April 2017’s Fête des Mousquetaires competition. Theme: “Coup de foudre”.





	At First Sight (first rambling)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gogirl212](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogirl212/gifts).



He is always in love.  
His brothers like to tease him about it.  
“Really?”  
“Again?”  
“You, my friend, suffer from a severe case of repeated attacks of love at first sight.”  
He smiles with them.  
He embraces this character. The charming and passionate hedonist who gives all his heart to any remotely good-looking receptive woman.  
Even those who know him the most seem to buy it easily.  
But they are wrong.  
It took him a long time to learn to love the most important people in his life.

Isabelle, first. Sweet and merry Isabelle, whom he ran into on a dozen occasions, at mass, or on the main street of Herblay, without ever noticing her. Until that day he left home in a fury, after another argument with his father, and rode to the remote church he liked to go to when he felt the need to be alone. After he finished his prayer, he opened his eyes and she was there, three paces from him. He had not heard her coming. She smiled. Asked him if he was okay. They talked for hours. Then met again, day after day, week after week. And they talked, talked, talked, he told her things he’d never said to anyone, and they were friends long before they even considered becoming lovers.

Adèle, whom he had desired as soon as he’d laid eyes on her, indeed, but whose bossy insolence, witty comebacks and, most of all, profoundly wise and pragmatic way she had to embrace her own superficiality he learned to adore.

The Queen herself, whose strength and tenacity he always admired, whom he risked his life for many times, because it was his duty to protect France, and she was France, until, one day, she was Anne.

And his brothers. He liked Porthos from the start but it took some effort for those two very strong characters to get really close to each other. Athos, for his part, was so distrustful and remote, when he met him, that he had to wrest him for his companionship. And D’Artagnan… well, D’Artagnan introduced himself by indicating his will to murder one of his best friends.

He has never loved at first sight because, as open, affable and smiling as he looks, Aramis is afraid to hurt and be hurt.

Giving too much of himself, too soon, to total strangers is the one risk this reckless, carefree man thought he would never take.

Who knew what would happen if he did?

Well, today, he knows.

Today, five innocent people died because of him.

x

He’s a seasoned elite soldier.

He recognizes a dangerous plan when he sees one, but works skillfully to make the best of it. And this one went perfectly well, until he heard the baby crying.

He’s not sure how long he’s been distracted, but next thing he knew, Alaman was in his line of fire, the Spaniards had realized they'd been tricked, everyone was fighting and he was doing his best to help his brothers amongst the growing panic.

When the commotion ended, he remained in position, not even lowering his musket. He watched Athos and D’Artagnan starting to assess the situation and, all the while, tried to collect himself. Then, he went down the stairs, and into the street, looking casual. He knew he could trust his act. He’d worked all his life to appear flippantly aloof in almost any circumstance.

Now, he’s absentmindedly cleaning his weapons, his eyes on the cart where their younger recruit is helping to lay the bodies.  
One.  
Two.  
Three.  
Four.  
Five.

How could such a thing have happened to him?  
He was perfectly aware that he was distracted. He knew that his dread for the Dauphin's health was hampering his thinking. But his weakness had taken him totally by surprise.

Now, they don’t have the cipher, Alaman's daughter is still in danger, five passersby have been killed, thousands more will be if Spain gets the formula and declares war to France, and Porthos is hurt.

Porthos is hurt because of him.

Porthos, who has always stood by him, however foolish he was. Porthos who was there after Savoy, when he wanted to die, as much as he claimed otherwise. Who spent hours just talking to him about anything, to keep his mind off the appealing darkness. Porthos, whose face he woke up to this one night, when the nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks reached their peak. He felt his friend's hand holding his, heard his voice telling him that he was home, that he was alive, that he deserved to be  _and don't you dare think otherwise_ , and that there was no shame in fear, and everything was fine, or would be. To his own bewilderment, he believed him, and, at this very moment, started to heal.

It was Porthos who covered up for him the time he managed to get himself locked into Madame Beaudoin's basement for two days, until her husband finally decided to overcome his cold and go away to do whatever in Heaven he was doing for a living; Porthos who quite literally supported him after last year's forest fire near Ivry, when he spent so long treating the wounded without taking any sleep that he was hardly able to put one foot in front of the other, let alone ride, on their way back to the garrison; Porthos with whom he got passed-out drunk for the first time ever, not so many years ago, because he doesn’t like to lose control but it feels so natural to trust when this man is by his side.

They have saved each other's lives on countless occasions and, now, there is a very strong possibility that Porthos will die because of him.

"What happened?"  
Athos's voice. Perhaps, if he doesn’t answer, the Musketeer will take his silence for an expression of sad resignation and go away.  
"Aramis?"  
Of course, he won’t.  
"Tariq was in my line of fire. There was nothing I could do."

What was that now?

He never lies to his brother! Well, except when he pretends not to notice the bottles hidden under the man’s bed or the red in his eyes after a night spent consuming said bottles, but those are white lies that don’t fool anyone.

He's never held many illusions about his own qualities and flaws, but he would not have imagined he would one day call himself a coward.

On the other hand…

x

He’s selfish.

He’s never liked that trait of his character, but figured out very young how to deal with it. One day, Isabelle said to him that it was not your first impulse, but the way you acted upon it, that told who you were. So he learned to do the right things, because he wanted to be a decent man.

That’s why he proposed to her. That’s why, even now, he’s certain that **no** , this decision would not have made anyone miserable, as she pretended just before she died.

He remembers his tears when she lost the baby. He remembers his grief for something he had never wanted in the first place. He remembers feeling completely alone, so openly vulnerable it seemed that everyone could see how easy it would have been to break him. He hated this so much!

He didn’t break, though. If anything, the whole thing made him stronger.

And, one day, he doesn’t remember exactly when but he still feels how sudden it was, the pain stopped. One day, he woke up, and spent his time doing whatever he had planned to do, never once thinking about Isabelle and the baby, and it was over.

Reflecting on it now, he wonders if, as deep as the wound was, his tears were ever about anyone but himself.

He grieved for the happy life he'd hoped for, some idea of a traditional, loving family of which he had no clue what it looked like but sounded appealing to his sixteen-year-old romantic self. However, he believes, now, that there was very little empathy for the other people who’d been hurt.  
Isabelle. Her father. His own father, who was never nice to him when they lived together, but who got him out of the brothel and gave him an education, and believed him so smart and brave that he could accomplish anything. Who searched for him when he fled, almost as much as he searched for Isabelle himself, before he finally set out to send him a letter because he knew that was the right thing to do.  
The old man not even blamed him. Just answered without a hint of acidity that he was happy to read that his son was alive, and fine.  
And fine he was. He had moved on so easily…

x

He’s a seasoned elite soldier.

All his existence revolves around the idea of fighting for others. He’s renounced his own life to protect his King, Queen and country, and has been injured on more than one occasion trying – and generally succeeding – to save an innocent he’d only met.

_I killed those five today._

_As surely as if I’d pulled the trigger myself._

You should never love at first sight.

Not if it makes you gloss over the right thing to do.

But he can’t control what he feels for the Dauphin, and can’t trust himself when the boy is hurt. 

x

 He’s selfish.

 He forgot about Isabelle long ago.

He knows that he would have been happy if they had gotten married. He’s certain that he would have loved her and the child, and yes, maybe he would have missed the adventure, or all that could have been, but that’s what being an adult is about, really. Even if he likes being a Musketeer so much, and defying death every day and feeling so alive for it, there are some things he misses. He’s made choices, both conscious and impulsive ones, and learned to move on with all of them.

He would have done his best to be a good husband. He would have settled down and learned to love a predictable, peaceful life. But then, when she lost the baby, he learned to love the void that called for freedom all the same.

Never has he thought back about what could have been. Well, except perhaps at some birthdays… Or those two times he almost died, at Montauban and Savoy. As enduring and positive as you try to be, you can’t just detach yourself completely from your past, or, conversely, your potentialities.

But he loves his life. He has his friends, his lovers and his career. Things he would not have ever dreamt of only ten years ago. So, if he were not to become a father, well, so be it!

Until the Dauphin was born and it was as if he'd never been meant to be anything else.

He knows, from personal experience, that many parents just pretend to love their children more than themselves, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. But he does feel it. He feels it so much and can’t even start to describe this overwhelming and irrational need to put another life before his own.

Before everything.

x

He’s selfish. He knows it, it frightens him, he tries to fight against it and, most of the time, manages to squeeze something good out of it. Maybe he’s become a Musketeer for the thrill of adventure. Maybe one of the reasons he would go to hell and back for the sake of those he loves is because no one has the right to hurt someone dear to **him**. But he **does** take care of others, and he feels for them, so what if he gains in the process?

He could laugh at the irony.

He has nothing to gain in taking care of his son.

This love is the purest, most impulsive self-forgetting thing he has ever felt.

And yet, it is selfish again.

The boy has a father.

He’s cherished and tended to. Aramis knows it and it should be enough.

Except it’s not. He wants nothing more than to be with his child. He wants to be the one protecting him and he can’t bear not being there to witness all the things he will learn, what will make him laugh, or cry… He can’t bear standing at a window with a musket, trying to preserve peace in Europe, a thing that seems so trivial, now, compared to the possibility of holding the little boy while he’s sick.

Before Isabelle, before he left, his father had wanted him to be a priest, and he had laughed at the idea. Sure, God was a big part of his life, and the prospect of serving Him was not unpleasant, but he was so adventurous, self-conscious and cheeky... Not to mention the women!  
For a long time, he believed that the old man just wanted to compensate for not having been there during the first years of his life. That he hoped to give what he thought was the best to his smart, sensitive and caring son. But he wonders, now, if his father didn’t just  _know_.  
Know that yes, he was smart, sensitive and caring enough to recognize the right things to do, but lacked the instinctive compassion and modesty that made a truly good person. That a life of studying, praying and thinking could have forced him to overcome his weakness.  
Maybe it was his own soul that his father tried to save. 

x

He’s a seasoned elite soldier.

A soldier who’s never ceased to be open, romantic and caring, but a soldier nonetheless. A soldier who knows to make quick decisions amidst the heat of the combat. A soldier who understands that his actions, or lack of, can result into unpredicted deaths. But who would seldom blame himself afterward because this soldier takes his responsibilities with a clear mind. This soldier refuses to let something as dangerous as love at first sight interfere with his ability to fight for what he believes in, keep his brothers safe, and do his duty! 

x

 W _hat have I done?_

These people,  _they_  had families. Fathers and mothers who would do anything to protect them. Who would cry for them and curse the cruel fate that took their loved ones, not knowing that there is no fate, just a weak, self-centered man who could have protected them if he'd wanted to, but chose instead not to even protect his best friend, because he was freaking out about the son that isn’t his.

A very young woman has been killed. Children could have been killed. The very same baby who distracted him in the first place could have been killed.

And he doesn’t care enough to be devastated!

Alaman walks past him with a small nod and, suddenly, he hates the man.

If he had trusted them, nothing would have happened.

He never had any intention of delivering the cipher. They all risked their lives thinking that, if anything went wrong, at least the exchange would grant them some time. That they would be able to stop those men while they were checking the box, or follow them to where they were keeping Samara. Losing some ground in order to win the battle is something any soldier can handle.

But they need to trust their officers for that!

It’s Tarik’s fault. It’s Tarik’s fault, as much as his. They knew he was a traitor and, deluded by his promises and displayed concern for his daughter, have been foolish enough to build a whole plan solely on his word.

He should give this hypocrite a piece of his mind!

He will.

Oh, yes he will!

And then…

Well, then, perhaps he’ll talk to Athos.

After all that’s what a good person would do, isn’t it? 

x

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is a big rewriting of my first fic ever (you can find it on fft, but I'm not that proud of it).  
> \- One of the reasons Aramis has always been my favorite, in Dumas and almost every adaptation that followed, is that he is a very ambiguous character. So I liked it very much when the series started to show this more selfish side of him. Yet, I was very surprised that his lying to Athos and not taking his responsibilities were never addressed afterwards. It was very frustrating for me, and I believe that made Aramis look a bit like an egotistic coward who didn’t care much about his (totally understandable) moment of weakness. This is why I wanted so much to write this.  
> \- If you liked this fic, I strongly suggest you check on gogirl212's What Price, Brotherhood?, which, in addition to being one of the best stories I've found on this fandom, might be read as a sequel to this one: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9140185


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